


Too Late

by Vicky_Strife



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canonical Character Death, Coda, Episode Related, Gen, Grieving Dean Winchester, M/M, spn 12x23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 19:18:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11996292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicky_Strife/pseuds/Vicky_Strife
Summary: We all think we'll have another occasion, another tomorrow. Dean was no exception to that.





	Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> Fanart by [bamf-castiel](http://bamf-castiel.tumblr.com/post/100343039992/i-miss-him) on tumblr. Short fic inspired by it and Keaton Henson's song "You". Takes place right after season 12 finale.

_**"And if you must die, sweetheart, die knowing your life was my life's best part."** _

* * *

 

The light is gone.

The sky is starless, the lake without any reflection.

His knees are damp and his jeans stick to his skin.

The body spread out next to him isn't moving.

It won't move anymore.

He knows it, but hope is an incurable disease.

He pronounces his name. His voice seems foreign to him.

Weak, flickering, like the flame of a candle about to go out.

No reaction.

So he looks up, prays. Until the tears roll down his cheeks, frozen by the nocturnal breeze.

And the universe seems too big, his existence too insignificant when silence answers him.

All that love, _wasted_.

His breath catches in his throat and he clenches his fists.

"Son of a bitch, bring him back to me!!!"

His scream tears the darkness and surprises the crickets that stop their singing for a moment.

But this time, God doesn't grant him his wish.

The man lies down beside the body, on his side, in order to look at him. Pine needles prick him through his clothes.

And his lips find a will of their own.

"I'm sorry, I- I couldn't do it. I'd do anything to go back in time... I should have- We had so many occasions..."

He remembers these missed opportunities and each of them leaves a deep gash in his heart that will no longer beat for anyone. Of all the tortures he has endured in his life, this is the most painful.

"Please, don't leave me... I need you!"

Even now he can't say it. He hates himself.

His interlocutor is still motionless.

So the man falls apart for good, lets his never expressed feelings pour out of him, pushed by despair and guilt.

After a minute, an hour, or a day, his jolts become scarce and eventually cease.

His vision blurry, he gets up and wipes his nose with his sleeve. Walks to his car, comes back with a shovel. Begins digging in one of the golden rectangles scattered through the windows of the lighted house behind him.

During all his labor, he feels and thinks nothing and is grateful for it. The void is saving.

He drops the tool and it falls with a thump.

The moment to say goodbye has arrived.

He gently raises the body in his arms before laying it back down right away.

He can't.

Something has yet to be done.

He removes the trenchcoat from his precious load and put it on, inch by inch, eyes closed, teeth grinding.

A familiar smell overwhelms him and he has to plant his fingers into the ground.

_Blood. Ash. Leather._

_Him_.

When his nausea subsides, he lifts the already cold body and places it on the bottom of the tomb.

Nothing tempts him more than to lie down next to him, to wait for the end huddled against him.

He's so tired.

But he knows it would be useless. Their path will never cross again, neither in this world nor in another.

He climbs out of the hole and still hesitates for a few seconds, his shovel full of dirt hanging in the air. The trenchcoat undulates like a flag behind him.

One last time, he looks at the pale face of his brother, his best friend, his _so much more_.

Then the earth covers it.

When the sun illuminates the valley again, a cross made of irregular branches sits at the top of the mound.

On one of them, an anonymous inscription carved with a pocket knife.

_"I love you"_

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so I hope it didn't suck too much, English is not my first language so some sentences might sound weird to native English speakers :/


End file.
